Mon, 1 May 2006
NEWS 5 - MASHHAD
SALAAM everyone and HAPPY MAY!!! I started writing about our trip to Mashhad when we returned more than a week ago, and since then so much has been going on haven't had a chance to catch up with myself for anything, much less get this wrapped up. THANKS to all of you who have written, concerned that you haven't heard any news from me for a while. All is verrrrry very well, and hopefully soon will write about what has been going on since we returned! So, a bit of retrogression ...
MASHHAD is ... dazzling, remarkable, otherworldly, powerful beyond words ...
Three days of exclusively Persian language, with Nima's mother and two longtime family friends, which greatly contributed not only to my deepening command of the language, but also to the experience of "paradox" ... Lots and LOTS of laughter and giggling and hilarity, especially with the three of us ladies, in stark contrast to the solemnity, spiritual power and architectural grandeur of the Holy Precincts of this extraordinary pilgrimage site. An ENORMOUS privilege not only to be in this country at this time, but to go to this pilgrimage site under the wing of my two Iranian lady friends was an honour beyond imagination ...
... A correction from what I wrote earlier: Mashhad is the most important pilgrimage site for Iranian Shiites, although apparently pilgrims come from all over the world, including Iraq. The city seems to completely revolve around activities and services for these pilgrims, approximately 12 million per year!!! (according to my 2004 Lonely Planet - Iran guide book ...)
For those of you who are unfamiliar, here is a quote from Lonely Planet: "Mashhad means 'Place of Martyrdom' and the city is extremely sacred to Shiites as the place where the direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammaed, Imam Reza, died in AD 817."
We flew from Tehran at night, Lady T, Lady S and me, arriving after midnight ... the atmosphere already felt charged as we were off in a taxi to Lady S's apartment, which looks out from the top (11th) floor onto a beautiful, large manicured garden complex with a wonderful, perfectly well-appointed playground for children ... and us, as I would later discover! ... and beyond, to mountains in the background.
Next morning we went to the mountain near the center of the city and climbed to the top, where we could get a good sense of the surrounding legendary land of Khorasan ... flat, and some rolling hills, reddish terrain with mountains in the distance. The city itself is full of patches of green, parks and trees generously complemeting varying shades of cement. The garden complex as well as the approach and pathways up the mountain are all constructed and woven together with such handsome sensitivity ... geometrically intricate stone pathways, flowing riverlets, fountains, GARDENS!!! The Persian aesthetic so gracefully springing into three dimensions, as if rising from the foundation of a Persian carpet ...
At the top, one of the ubiquitous memorials in this country for the martyrs of the Iran/Iraq war ... sadly we passed groupings of their surviving families, and paid our most sincere respects ...
Back down to the garden complex, and the also ubiquitous teahouse where we of course settled in for a refill before wandering off, back towards the apartment for lunch.
We stopped at a wonderful bread shop (I imagined that the method of baking bread there has not changed in mannnny centuries - a wood-burning oven, the bread stuck onto flat places inside ...) I managed to snap a photo (with his permission, of course!) outside next to the street - two trees sporting a thin span of wood, with nails supporting several large flat "loaves"of bread hanging in the air, presumably cooling off ... and standing next them, a gentleman in dapper business attire with a briefcase looking like he just stepped off Madison Avenue (New York City). Although not to the same degree of contradiction, it made me think of the same way in which octopus(es) are hung out to dry, all along the Greek coastline(s) ...
After lunch, we began our preparations for visiting the Haram-e Motahhar (Sacred Precincts). As if in counterbalance to the seriousness of our visit, the laughter started bubbling up, as I began struggling and confusing (ongoing!) the words: Imam, hamaam, haram (short sound on both syllables as in "cat"), haraam (long sound on the "aa" syllable as in "far"). I found my two lady companions doubling up in laughter as I was - somberly - referring to our destination as the bath (hamaam) of Imam Reza, or the forbidden (haraam), rather than the HARAM (HolyPrecinct) ... woops ...
We took off at dusk, Lady S's husband, Mr M driving, chadors in reserve, heading off towards the sites. So much has been written about this AMAZING grouping of architectural wonders; I won't go off rhapsodizing too much here ... (AND strongly recommend reading up on - and poring through photos of - this truly dazzling earthly demonstration of the heavenly ...)
(Thanks, Warren, for sending these links !!!) This site has some great photos and history about Mashhad:
http://www.sacredsites.com/middle_east/iran/mashad.htm
The whole experience there, dressed in full chador, listening deeply and being moved and called, deeply, by the "Azan" (call to prayer; a man's voice singing from the Holy Qor'an) ... how to begin to express this ... !?!? It brought me around full circle, deepening recognition that "religious" differences are ultimately superficial, next to the uniting force of common prayer.
The crowd of kneeling worshippers, arrayed across sprawling, patterned carpets, men on one side of a huge fountain, we women on the other, in this ultra-magnificent courtyard ... To BE a part of this undulating human rhythm in this most glorious of architectural contexts ... it is enough to lead even a nonbeliever into a stark sense of humility and communion with all human souls gathered there, and everywhere ... and the ONE GOD that connects us ALL, ever-present and ever LOVING ...
At the conclusion of the formal prayer, we moved beyond to the Shrine of Imam Reza. I had been told that it is wild in there, with all people, women on one side, men on the other, grieving, wishing to touch the actual site of Iman Reza's burial. Emotions and sensibilites rising to a feverish pitch ... My lady friends told me it is too dangerous to attempt the approach, since at any moment if someone fell down they would certainly be trampled or suffocated or ...
Pressing through, focusing on the goal in front of me, a HUGE splendid gold cage-like structure (for a good photo: http://persia.org/imagemap/mashad.html) with glass surrounding the wood inside, churning movement of women coming out, going in, moving sideways and every way ... Like taking a dive under a huge ocean wave and getting smacked to the sandy floor, not knowing which way is up ... I moved ahead, against my friends' advice but reassuring them that I would be fine. Waves, surges of movement, emotion, temperature ... bodies pressed so close that there was no effort required to remain upright, since all my weight - and of everyone else - was transferred to everyone else. We became one BEING with hundreds of legs, sharing a common goal.
At one point I felt my chador slipping off my head as it was getting stuck between the bodies smashed together. I pulled gently at it to make sure it did not get swept off into oblivion, focusing forward, with LOVE for all around, heart-energy leading the way. Finally I arrived within reaching distance of the Shrine, stuck my arm through the heads and wailing arms of the women around me, another wave rolling me away, back and forth, and yet another wave angling me within reach again ... almost.
A woman in front of me, surely an angel, took my hand and pulled it forward slightly towards the Shrine, enabling me to come into direct tactile contact with ... this extraordinary source of palpable spiritual power. This woman, an unknown soul assisting another unknown soul to experience this connecting force ... her magnanimous, selfless gesture itself an instrinsic part of the confirmation of having completed a pilgrimage.
I was, simply, brought to tears ... the energy and power of the entire experience, a transformative, life-punctuating stamp on my small self, part of the grand scheme ...
We left in silence ... in that moment there were no words, no thoughts in my head, nothing but the sense of having been ushered into the next part of my life, and a deeper understanding of something indescribably vast ... something like the movement back and forth between my "self" and the SELF ...... one drop, and the ocean ...
... And still in full chador, we walked, me feeling dazed, stumbling, gliding through the bazaar a few steps away from the complex. My transformed state of being a true pilgrim must have been visible, since a group of girls approached us and asked ME - not my 2 Iranian lady friends - for directions. Laughter among us all, warmly providing a foothold on the GROUND, again ...
We purchased a few odds and ends in the bazaar, including one chador of my own! (More about that subject later ...) Handling money, focusing on such earthly activities, also helped get me back on the ground ...
We eventually found our way back to the apartment for a simple dinner, at last recognizing my feet under me again. During the next two days, we were changed into more of a tourist mode, visiting the tomb sites of Ferdowsi, Omar Khayyam, Attar. Paying respects to these individuals who have made such huge contributions to the world in the fields of language, science, poetry, transformative philosophy, another great honour.
We arrived at dusk in Neishabur, and at the site of Omar Khayyam's tomb, we had another burst of laughter, and another affirmation for me of our shared, silly, human condition. I have witnessed American people responding to questions about where certain places are, such as Greece, with "Oh yeah, isn't that down near Texas ...?" With our group of four, we were standing in front of the tomb of Khayyam, touching the stone in wonderment and deep appreciation, and an Iranian woman standing next to us with her group said, "Hmmm ... now, what was his name?"
Chortling, we wandered off to visit the other awe-inspiring sites there, through large bounteous, well-attended gardens and fountains, with the intoxicating aroma of jasmine pervading our contemplative mood.
One of the days we went for a fabulous lunch at a very traditional restaurant, although it was built only about 4 years ago. Fountains, arches, gardens, proportion, geometry, small alcoves for groupings of people sitting on raised carpeted floors with vast quantities of delicious food heaping up on platters ... (This kind of architecture is what made me realize quite a few years ago that "Spanish architecture", a style we are quite familiar with in Southern California, is a direct development of THIS architectual style ... one of the innumerable elements of "Eastern culture" that we in the "West", or at least I, certainly had taken for granted ... )
That night, delirious from all the input of such intense magnificence, not to mention the HUGE lunch we had eaten, we 3 ladies went downstairs at the apartment complex to walk off some of our overindulgence. Singing, walking, stopping to rub our sore stomachs ... around and around, giggling and singing and walking in large circles, weaving through the elegant garden complex until we finally settled into some equipment in the playground - a small 4-seater whirligig, do-it-yourself, pulling on the inner circle, pulling ourselves around and around, laughing hysterically, and here it was midnight, until we really begain to fear waking up the whole apartment complex ...
Another trip altogether too short to leave without feeling sad, although it was certainly a very, very nourishing and transformative time, on so many levels ... Back to Tehran, early morning flight ... and back to something of a routine, here in my new city!
Will wait til next time to write about all the things that have been unfolding during this past week ... but the summary of it all is,
W O N D E R F U L !!!!!!!!!!
lots of love to all, Rowan/Rohan/Rowhan/Sotiria (have to add my Greek name just to fill out the multiple-personality situation!)
NEWS 5 - MASHHAD
SALAAM everyone and HAPPY MAY!!! I started writing about our trip to Mashhad when we returned more than a week ago, and since then so much has been going on haven't had a chance to catch up with myself for anything, much less get this wrapped up. THANKS to all of you who have written, concerned that you haven't heard any news from me for a while. All is verrrrry very well, and hopefully soon will write about what has been going on since we returned! So, a bit of retrogression ...
MASHHAD is ... dazzling, remarkable, otherworldly, powerful beyond words ...
Three days of exclusively Persian language, with Nima's mother and two longtime family friends, which greatly contributed not only to my deepening command of the language, but also to the experience of "paradox" ... Lots and LOTS of laughter and giggling and hilarity, especially with the three of us ladies, in stark contrast to the solemnity, spiritual power and architectural grandeur of the Holy Precincts of this extraordinary pilgrimage site. An ENORMOUS privilege not only to be in this country at this time, but to go to this pilgrimage site under the wing of my two Iranian lady friends was an honour beyond imagination ...
... A correction from what I wrote earlier: Mashhad is the most important pilgrimage site for Iranian Shiites, although apparently pilgrims come from all over the world, including Iraq. The city seems to completely revolve around activities and services for these pilgrims, approximately 12 million per year!!! (according to my 2004 Lonely Planet - Iran guide book ...)
For those of you who are unfamiliar, here is a quote from Lonely Planet: "Mashhad means 'Place of Martyrdom' and the city is extremely sacred to Shiites as the place where the direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammaed, Imam Reza, died in AD 817."
We flew from Tehran at night, Lady T, Lady S and me, arriving after midnight ... the atmosphere already felt charged as we were off in a taxi to Lady S's apartment, which looks out from the top (11th) floor onto a beautiful, large manicured garden complex with a wonderful, perfectly well-appointed playground for children ... and us, as I would later discover! ... and beyond, to mountains in the background.
Next morning we went to the mountain near the center of the city and climbed to the top, where we could get a good sense of the surrounding legendary land of Khorasan ... flat, and some rolling hills, reddish terrain with mountains in the distance. The city itself is full of patches of green, parks and trees generously complemeting varying shades of cement. The garden complex as well as the approach and pathways up the mountain are all constructed and woven together with such handsome sensitivity ... geometrically intricate stone pathways, flowing riverlets, fountains, GARDENS!!! The Persian aesthetic so gracefully springing into three dimensions, as if rising from the foundation of a Persian carpet ...
At the top, one of the ubiquitous memorials in this country for the martyrs of the Iran/Iraq war ... sadly we passed groupings of their surviving families, and paid our most sincere respects ...
Back down to the garden complex, and the also ubiquitous teahouse where we of course settled in for a refill before wandering off, back towards the apartment for lunch.
We stopped at a wonderful bread shop (I imagined that the method of baking bread there has not changed in mannnny centuries - a wood-burning oven, the bread stuck onto flat places inside ...) I managed to snap a photo (with his permission, of course!) outside next to the street - two trees sporting a thin span of wood, with nails supporting several large flat "loaves"of bread hanging in the air, presumably cooling off ... and standing next them, a gentleman in dapper business attire with a briefcase looking like he just stepped off Madison Avenue (New York City). Although not to the same degree of contradiction, it made me think of the same way in which octopus(es) are hung out to dry, all along the Greek coastline(s) ...
After lunch, we began our preparations for visiting the Haram-e Motahhar (Sacred Precincts). As if in counterbalance to the seriousness of our visit, the laughter started bubbling up, as I began struggling and confusing (ongoing!) the words: Imam, hamaam, haram (short sound on both syllables as in "cat"), haraam (long sound on the "aa" syllable as in "far"). I found my two lady companions doubling up in laughter as I was - somberly - referring to our destination as the bath (hamaam) of Imam Reza, or the forbidden (haraam), rather than the HARAM (HolyPrecinct) ... woops ...
We took off at dusk, Lady S's husband, Mr M driving, chadors in reserve, heading off towards the sites. So much has been written about this AMAZING grouping of architectural wonders; I won't go off rhapsodizing too much here ... (AND strongly recommend reading up on - and poring through photos of - this truly dazzling earthly demonstration of the heavenly ...)
(Thanks, Warren, for sending these links !!!) This site has some great photos and history about Mashhad:
http://www.sacredsites.com/middle_east/iran/mashad.htm
The whole experience there, dressed in full chador, listening deeply and being moved and called, deeply, by the "Azan" (call to prayer; a man's voice singing from the Holy Qor'an) ... how to begin to express this ... !?!? It brought me around full circle, deepening recognition that "religious" differences are ultimately superficial, next to the uniting force of common prayer.
The crowd of kneeling worshippers, arrayed across sprawling, patterned carpets, men on one side of a huge fountain, we women on the other, in this ultra-magnificent courtyard ... To BE a part of this undulating human rhythm in this most glorious of architectural contexts ... it is enough to lead even a nonbeliever into a stark sense of humility and communion with all human souls gathered there, and everywhere ... and the ONE GOD that connects us ALL, ever-present and ever LOVING ...
At the conclusion of the formal prayer, we moved beyond to the Shrine of Imam Reza. I had been told that it is wild in there, with all people, women on one side, men on the other, grieving, wishing to touch the actual site of Iman Reza's burial. Emotions and sensibilites rising to a feverish pitch ... My lady friends told me it is too dangerous to attempt the approach, since at any moment if someone fell down they would certainly be trampled or suffocated or ...
Pressing through, focusing on the goal in front of me, a HUGE splendid gold cage-like structure (for a good photo: http://persia.org/imagemap/mashad.html) with glass surrounding the wood inside, churning movement of women coming out, going in, moving sideways and every way ... Like taking a dive under a huge ocean wave and getting smacked to the sandy floor, not knowing which way is up ... I moved ahead, against my friends' advice but reassuring them that I would be fine. Waves, surges of movement, emotion, temperature ... bodies pressed so close that there was no effort required to remain upright, since all my weight - and of everyone else - was transferred to everyone else. We became one BEING with hundreds of legs, sharing a common goal.
At one point I felt my chador slipping off my head as it was getting stuck between the bodies smashed together. I pulled gently at it to make sure it did not get swept off into oblivion, focusing forward, with LOVE for all around, heart-energy leading the way. Finally I arrived within reaching distance of the Shrine, stuck my arm through the heads and wailing arms of the women around me, another wave rolling me away, back and forth, and yet another wave angling me within reach again ... almost.
A woman in front of me, surely an angel, took my hand and pulled it forward slightly towards the Shrine, enabling me to come into direct tactile contact with ... this extraordinary source of palpable spiritual power. This woman, an unknown soul assisting another unknown soul to experience this connecting force ... her magnanimous, selfless gesture itself an instrinsic part of the confirmation of having completed a pilgrimage.
I was, simply, brought to tears ... the energy and power of the entire experience, a transformative, life-punctuating stamp on my small self, part of the grand scheme ...
We left in silence ... in that moment there were no words, no thoughts in my head, nothing but the sense of having been ushered into the next part of my life, and a deeper understanding of something indescribably vast ... something like the movement back and forth between my "self" and the SELF ...... one drop, and the ocean ...
... And still in full chador, we walked, me feeling dazed, stumbling, gliding through the bazaar a few steps away from the complex. My transformed state of being a true pilgrim must have been visible, since a group of girls approached us and asked ME - not my 2 Iranian lady friends - for directions. Laughter among us all, warmly providing a foothold on the GROUND, again ...
We purchased a few odds and ends in the bazaar, including one chador of my own! (More about that subject later ...) Handling money, focusing on such earthly activities, also helped get me back on the ground ...
We eventually found our way back to the apartment for a simple dinner, at last recognizing my feet under me again. During the next two days, we were changed into more of a tourist mode, visiting the tomb sites of Ferdowsi, Omar Khayyam, Attar. Paying respects to these individuals who have made such huge contributions to the world in the fields of language, science, poetry, transformative philosophy, another great honour.
We arrived at dusk in Neishabur, and at the site of Omar Khayyam's tomb, we had another burst of laughter, and another affirmation for me of our shared, silly, human condition. I have witnessed American people responding to questions about where certain places are, such as Greece, with "Oh yeah, isn't that down near Texas ...?" With our group of four, we were standing in front of the tomb of Khayyam, touching the stone in wonderment and deep appreciation, and an Iranian woman standing next to us with her group said, "Hmmm ... now, what was his name?"
Chortling, we wandered off to visit the other awe-inspiring sites there, through large bounteous, well-attended gardens and fountains, with the intoxicating aroma of jasmine pervading our contemplative mood.
One of the days we went for a fabulous lunch at a very traditional restaurant, although it was built only about 4 years ago. Fountains, arches, gardens, proportion, geometry, small alcoves for groupings of people sitting on raised carpeted floors with vast quantities of delicious food heaping up on platters ... (This kind of architecture is what made me realize quite a few years ago that "Spanish architecture", a style we are quite familiar with in Southern California, is a direct development of THIS architectual style ... one of the innumerable elements of "Eastern culture" that we in the "West", or at least I, certainly had taken for granted ... )
That night, delirious from all the input of such intense magnificence, not to mention the HUGE lunch we had eaten, we 3 ladies went downstairs at the apartment complex to walk off some of our overindulgence. Singing, walking, stopping to rub our sore stomachs ... around and around, giggling and singing and walking in large circles, weaving through the elegant garden complex until we finally settled into some equipment in the playground - a small 4-seater whirligig, do-it-yourself, pulling on the inner circle, pulling ourselves around and around, laughing hysterically, and here it was midnight, until we really begain to fear waking up the whole apartment complex ...
Another trip altogether too short to leave without feeling sad, although it was certainly a very, very nourishing and transformative time, on so many levels ... Back to Tehran, early morning flight ... and back to something of a routine, here in my new city!
Will wait til next time to write about all the things that have been unfolding during this past week ... but the summary of it all is,
W O N D E R F U L !!!!!!!!!!
lots of love to all, Rowan/Rohan/Rowhan/Sotiria (have to add my Greek name just to fill out the multiple-personality situation!)
posted by Rowan Storm at 9:28 AM
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